


i hear you like the wild stuff

by inlovewithnight



Category: Bandom, My Chemical Romance
Genre: Breathplay, Incest, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-05-17
Updated: 2014-05-17
Packaged: 2018-01-25 09:58:31
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 778
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1644665
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/inlovewithnight/pseuds/inlovewithnight
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It probably says something about them that “sick shit” didn’t include talking about kinks with your brother.</p>
            </blockquote>





	i hear you like the wild stuff

**Author's Note:**

  * For [pearl_o](https://archiveofourown.org/users/pearl_o/gifts).



Mikey doesn’t even remember where they got the idea. A movie, maybe. Some fucked-up movie in a hotel room somewhere, or one they found on cable late at night when they were kids. An idea that slipped into their brains and got stuck and waited for them to talk about sick shit they were into.

It probably says something about them that “sick shit” didn’t include talking about kinks with your brother. It probably says a lot.

Gerard’s got weird, soft little hands, pencil calluses but nothing else. His palm pressed against Mikey’s throat doesn’t feel like it’s going to do anything, at first. It isn’t threatening. It’s just Gerard touching him. That’s the least threatening thing in the world.

“I don’t think this is going to work,” Mikey says.

“You’re not jacking it yet.” Gerard is nothing if not logical in his approach to erotic asphyxiation. Or maybe he just _seems_ logical, right now, while Mikey is drunk and they’re alone in an apartment that feels weird and lonely and eerie here in the space between tours, the space where they have to be people, just normal people.

They suck at it. Mikey sucks at it, anyway, and Gerard probably does, too, because he’s alone here with Mikey, and drunk, and has his hand on Mikey’s throat.

“Take your pants off,” Gerard prompts him, taking his hand away, and Mikey does as he’s told, stripping down to dirty white briefs and then pausing for another sip of his drink. Warm vodka and flat Sprite. It’s foul. He should’ve demanded they find something else to use as mixer.

“Okay.” Gerard nods and cracks his knuckles. “You jerk off, and when it looks like you’re getting kinda close I’ll choke you. Cool?”

That sounds logical enough, too. “Don’t make fun of my dick,” Mikey says, a little plaintively, draining the rest of his drink and tossing the empty cup aside.

“Why would I do that?”

“I don’t know. I’m just saying.”

“Your dick is fine.” Gerard dismisses any worry with an airy flip of his hand and then latches on to his own drink. Mikey watched him mix it; it’s almost straight vodka. He should be that hardcore. When the band falls apart and they end up loser Jersey wino trash, Gerard is going to have such a head start on him.

This is not helping him get an erection.

“Come _on_ , Mikey,” Gerard says, gesturing at him with his cup. “Do it.”

So Mikey closes his eyes and thinks about Billy Corgan until he gets some kind of a reaction, enough of one that he can get started. He can work himself up to really hard with stroking and spit and a vague mental slideshow of porn, no problems there, and everything’s cool, he’s headed for home base, definitely rounding second at least, and then--

And then Gerard’s soft little hand is on his throat again. Not so soft now, and not at all tentative, gripping over his windpipe like Gerard knows what he’s doing.

Mikey’s eyes fly open and he stares at his brother, losing his rhythm. Gerard stares back, eyes dilated and wet, the edges of his nostrils red and chapped, lower lip dry and cracked, showing blood at one corner.

Mikey squeezes his dick, half-aware that he’s actually getting _harder_ looking at Gerard, feeling Gerard’s hand on his throat, slowly increasing the pressure to cut off his air.

“I think I got it,” Gerard says calmly, conversationally, and then he brings his other hand up and clamps it over Mikey’s mouth.

Mikey struggles and Gerard doesn’t let him go, because Gerard never fucking lets go. Some part of Mikey’s brain, a part that’s deeper than the vodka and knows that orgasms are good, reminds him to start moving his hand again. Fast, tight, squeezing hard on the downstroke like maybe it’ll be even better if it hurts a little, and then Gerard says in that same calm voice, “Kay, I’m gonna see what happens.”

He takes his hands away and the rush of oxygen hits at the same time as he strokes all the way to the head, and this is _such_ sick shit but it works just like the movie or whatever hinted.

Gerard takes hold of his wrist and studies his hand, wet and sticky and bigger than Gerard’s, broader, fingers rough and knobby from playing bass. “Next time, you do me,” he says. “I want to try that.”

He kisses Mikey’s palm right in the center, then licks jizz off his lips like it’s no big thing, and Mikey thinks that next time maybe he’ll up his sick-shit game and kiss him.


End file.
